


your legs give way (you hit the ground)

by symphony7inAmajor



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mini fics, mention of injury, soup as a plot device
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 20:48:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18858838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symphony7inAmajor/pseuds/symphony7inAmajor
Summary: each chapter is a different mini-fic from tumblr prompts, one pairing per chapter.





	1. tyson/gabe: things you said that i wasn't meant to hear

**Author's Note:**

> (posts tumblr stuff here because i get more validation)
> 
> my longer wips are just like. not working recently. so i did [this](https://eversncenewyork.tumblr.com/post/110395333021/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a)
> 
> lots of these are just me working through sadness of free agency and playoffs SO :) angst
> 
> title from "save it for later" by the beat

They fly home to Denver after the Game Seven.

The team says their goodbyes at the airport, many of them eager to get home and see their families. Tyson gives Nate an extra-long hug, careful not to jostle his hurt shoulder.

“Take care of yourself, buddy,” he says, muffled in Nate’s shoulder. 

“You too,” Nate answers. They draw apart, Nate’s eyes flicking over to where Gabe is standing, saying his own goodbye to EJ. “Take care of him, too.” Tyson nods. The whole team knows that Gabe blames himself for the loss. Nate claps him on the shoulder once before he leaves. 

“Do you want to come over?” Gabe asks, and he looks uncertain in a way that Tyson’s not used to seeing. They aren’t really–anything, he figures, but Tyson’s never turned him down before.

“’Course,” Tyson says. He takes his suitcase in hand before striding off to find Gabe’s car. “After all, I’m sure Zoey has missed me, I would never want to deprive her of my presence.” He does a fist-pump in his head when he hears Gabe laugh softly. 

“It’s been, like, two days,” Gabe reminds him, but he’s smiling again. Tyson takes the W. 

The drive is quiet in a comfortable sort of way, the late-night arrival meaning the streets are almost empty. Tyson rolls the window down to breathe in the fresh air.

Zoey _is_ excited to see them, licking Tyson’s face joyfully when he crouches down to pet her, but Tyson doesn’t spend long with her. He opts to shower off the plane-smell, the lingering smell of the arena soap. Tyson puts on a pair of Gabe’s sweatpants when he’s done and slides into Gabe’s bed. 

It’s a little while before Gabe joins him, Tyson on that line between sleep and wakefulness where everything feels sort of dreamlike. He doesn’t open his eyes when Gabe gets into bed with him, or when Gabe carefully wraps an arm around his waist and tucks his nose against Tyson’s shoulder.

Gabe sighs.

“I love you,” he says, and it’s quiet enough that Tyson thinks he’s imagining it. Probably if he were more awake, he would’ve been able to reply, but as it is, he just lets himself drift off.

After all, Gabe will tell him properly when he’s ready, and Tyson will be right there waiting for him.


	2. jt/josty: things you said when we were the happiest we ever were

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one got to be joyful actually but like We All Know what happened after so...

Tyson’s never been this happy in his _life_.

They beat _Calgary._ They’re going to the _second round_. Nobody even thought they’d make it into the _playoffs_ for a few months. 

The team decides to go out to celebrate the night after, once they’re home in Denver and won’t get murdered by angry Flames fans in a bar. 

“After all,” as Gabe puts it, “we have time!” Tyson’s knee bounces once he’s on the plane, JT sitting next to him. JT sets his hand on it to make him stop, but he’s grinning too.

“Off day tomorrow,” JT reminds him. “Any big plans?” Tyson shakes his head.

“Sleeping, mostly,” he says. “Call my mom, you know, usual.” JT nods, because he does know, and they don’t speak again until the plane lands. 

Tyson almost reaches for JT when they get home, almost asks him to spend the night in his room, _almost_ tells him, but before he can work up the courage to do it, JT’s already gone. 

_Tomorrow_ , Tyson thinks, determined, and goes to sleep with his spirits not dampened in the slightest.

Unfortunately, sleeping in the next day means he misses JT leaving for errands in the morning, then hardly sees him again until the three of them are piling into the car to get to the club. Kerfy in the backseat means Tyson can’t use the drive to have a meaningful conversation, either. 

He’s starting to think the universe is conspiring against him.

All those thoughts disappear when they get to the club, though, some of the team already there and with a group of tables claimed. Tyson doesn’t spend very long at the tables, feeling happy enough that sitting still just isn’t _enough_.

So he drinks something of dubious colour before he stands up and drags JT to the dance floor, both of them laughing. Tyson winds his arms around JT’s neck while JT grips his hips, eyes bright.

Tyson’s never been so attracted to someone in his _life,_ and he’s feeling pretty fucking invincible right now. So, like, can he really be blamed for the way he leans up, having to yell to be heard over the music, and says, “Hey, I think I might be in love with you.” JT looks back at him, but the happiness in his face doesn’t dim at all.

Instead, his face lights up even more. He brings his hands up to Tyson’s waist, stroking the bare skin under his shirt.

“Hey,” JT says, his mouth close enough to Tyson’s ear that he barely has to raise his voice at all, “me too.” 

Tyson doesn’t see the expression on his face after that. He’s too busy kissing him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> file this one under "tyson jost absolutely makes the boys dance with him," please


	3. adam/brandon: things you said when you were crying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally some angsty FUCKING content!!

Brandon only sees the tweet because Jack sends him a screenshot along with a text asking, _is this real???_  

He has to read the tweet twice for it to really sink in, some reporter tweeting something about how there are a few teams looking to sign him, maybe. Brandon figures it’s just some guy spreading rumors, same as always, but this guy’s actually credible. Brandon looks at all the likes and retweets it has and feels a little sick.

_haven’t heard anything like that_ , Brandon replies. _how did u see it?_

_adam sent it to me,_ Jack says. And that’s-–shit. 

_gtg_ , he sends. He switches off his phone and goes. 

Adam’s home, he knows, because when Brandon had texted him that morning to ask if he wanted to come for dinner, Adam had said he wanted to stay home for the day. Brandon had figured that he was just tired after the disappointing end to their season, maybe tired of Brandon being around all the time. 

Maybe, Brandon realizes now, he’d seen the rumors that were maybe more than just rumors. Maybe he thought Brandon had lied to him every time he said he didn’t want to leave.

The thought makes him feel sick to his stomach as he gets in his car and drives to Adam’s place. The traffic is terrible, which gives him more time to think about how Adam could have reacted, how he might react to seeing Brandon. 

Adam doesn’t say anything when Brandon buzzes his apartment, but he does let him up. Brandon chooses to think of that as good news. He still almost sprints up the stairs to Adam’s apartment, like Adam’s going to change his mind and kick him out. 

When Adam answers the door, Brandon just looks at him for a moment, the way he’s dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, his messy hair, his hunched shoulders. The corners of his mouth are turned down, but he steps back to let Brandon in anyway. 

“What do you want?” Adam asks, sitting on the couch and staring at the wall. Brandon sits next to him, flinching at the way Adam shifts away from him.

“Jack showed me the tweet,” Brandon says, carefully, “said you sent it to him. I wanted to ask you what’s going on, that’s all.” Adam scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“It just reminded me,” Adam says. He stops, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. Brandon waits, but he doesn’t say anything more.

“Reminded you of what?” he asks finally. “What’s going on with you?” 

“I _know_ it’s just a stupid rumor, okay?” Adam says, and he sounds–not angry, exactly. Upset. “But it made me think of your contract, how you’re probably leaving, and you won’t _talk_ to me about _any_ of it!” And that’s a surprise. Brandon hadn’t known that Adam _wanted_ him to talk about it.

“I didn’t know you wanted me to,” Brandon says, because he’d wanted to talk to Adam about it, about how he’s _scared_ to go to another team, scared to play with a different center than Adam. He doesn’t say any of that right now, not wanting Adam to find out exactly how _much_ Brandon wants to talk to him all the time, how _much_ Brandon likes him–too much, is the answer.

“Of course I want you to,” Adam says, and his voice cracks a little bit, and something inside Brandon twists painfully. “I _wish_ you would–-” Adam turns away, his jaw working. Brandon’s chest _hurts_ , watching him, watching his shoulders shake. Adam hides his face in his hands.

“Adam,” he says, reaching out to touch his shoulder, but Adam slaps his hand away. Brandon catches a glimpse of his face, the way he’s _crying_. “ _Please_ , Adam, I don’t _understand_ ,” Brandon says, trying to force down the lump in his throat. 

“No,” Adam says, his bitter tone somewhat spoiled by the way he’s stuffy with tears. “You wouldn’t, because I never told you, and it’s my fault that I missed my chance to-–” He sucks in a ragged breath, scrubbing uselessly at his cheeks. Brandon wants to reach for him again, wants to hold him until he stops crying, wants him to smile again, but Adam won’t even _look_ at him. “I guess I might as well tell you,” Adam says, muffled into his palms. He looks up, his eyes red and shiny, and he says, “I’m in love with you.” 

Brandon feels like a puppet with its strings cut, unmoored, and he doesn’t know what to _say._ So he says nothing. Instead, he moves closer to Adam, slowly, brings an arm up to wrap around his shoulders and pulls him in close. He runs his fingers through Adam’s hair, Adam still shaking in his arms. 

“It doesn’t matter where I end up next year,” Brandon says softly, “because I’ll still love you, no matter where I’m playing. I’ll wait for you.” Adam looks up slowly, blinking. 

“You do?” He looks like he can’t believe it, as it Brandon would lie to him about something like _this_. Brandon kisses his forehead, then his cheek, tasting the salt, and finally drops a chaste kiss to his lips. He presses their foreheads together, watching a slow smile make its way onto Adam’s face.

“I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i'm upset! and?!?!?


	4. ej/nate: things you said through your teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rina has a future in comedy if the whole "law" thing doesn't work out, let's just put it that way!

EJ’s mad at him.

Nate’s not sure what he did, specifically, considering the entire team is varying degrees of _sad_ to _pissed off_. Unfortunately, EJ seems to be pissed not only at losing the series but also at Nate. He doesn’t even get a chance to ask why after the game, the doctors too busy fussing over his shoulder.

By the time he gets back to the dressing room, EJ’s gone. “Back to the bus early,” Gabe tells him. He squeezes Nate on his good side before trudging into the showers. 

They struggle through media before Nate can shower, careful of his arm now that the painkillers are wearing off, and limp back to the bus. EJ’s sitting at the back of the bus, scowling out the window. Before Nate can go to him, EJ snatches Gabe’s wrist and drags him into the seat beside him. 

Game doesn’t exactly protest–he’s barely said anything to anyone since his last interview ended. Nate sighs and sits with Mikko instead. The bus is quiet on the way to the airport, and the plane is even worse. The silence feels heavy, and it’s so different from the way it felt after Calgary, the team convinced they could win, _Nate_ convinced they could win.

EJ won’t sit with him on the plane, either.

That doesn’t stop Nate from driving to his house after they land, standing on the porch until EJ lets him in.

“What,” EJ says crisply, “are you doing.” Nate brushes past him, ignoring the question and going into the kitchen. He moves through it with the kind of certainty a person only gets from spending enough time somewhere that it becomes habitual, pulling two mugs out of the cupboards to make tea. 

EJ just watches him in a suspicious-sounding silence until Nate pushes a steaming mug into his hands, then follows him into the living room to sit with him on the couch. Nate raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of tea.

“Ugh,” EJ says. “If you must know.”  
  
“I must,” Nate interrupts. He ignores EJ’s glare and kicks his shin instead, right where he knows EJ got bruised blocking a shot earlier. EJ hisses.

“Why did you do that to yourself?” EJ says through his teeth–-or, hah, not–-still gritting them against the pain of his bruise. Nate doesn’t have to ask what he’s talking about. He shrugs one shoulder.

“Wasn’t going to sit out Game Seven,” Nate says, “no matter how much it hurt.” He doesn’t let EJ answer, saying, “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same, because I _know_ it’d be a lie.” EJ glares harder.

“Yeah, well.” He takes an angry sip of tea. “I’m not the franchise player, am I? If I get hurt on the wrong side of thirty and have to leave hockey, who’s going to care?” Nate flinches, shocked at the bitterness in EJ’s tone. He sets his mug down carefully and places a hand on EJ’s knee.

“All of us,” Nate says gently. “Gabe, Tys, G. _Me_.” EJ looks surprised to hear that, which _hurts_ but isn’t unexpected. “We love you, EJ.” Nate bites the inside of his cheek. That was _maybe_ a bit too honest, but EJ doesn’t seem to care. He looks curious, almost.

“And you?” EJ sounds tentative, but he’s stopped scowling and his eyes are hopeful. 

“Well,” Nate says, “I think I love you differently than the team. I hope.” EJ grins toothlessly. 

“I sure as hell hope so, too,” EJ says.

Nate’s never kissed anyone with missing teeth before, but he’s pretty sure it’s just like kissing someone with all their teeth. He can always practice if he needs to.

And there’s time like the present, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing all kinds of new and fresh pairings i've never written before huh


	5. adam/brandon: things you said when you were scared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes... back on my free agency bullshit

Brandon’s tense. 

Adam can feel it, the way his muscles are tight where Adam is touching him. He curls one of his hands around Brandon’s, twisting their fingers together, and drops his head against Brandon’s shoulder.

The phone still doesn’t ring.

“It doesn’t matter, you know,” Adam says, breaking the fragile silence they’ve been holding all morning, “where you end up next year. It doesn’t matter to me.” Brandon squeezes his hand.

“It might,” Brandon says. “You might change your mind.” Adam rests his chin on Brandon’s shoulder so he can look at him properly. Brandon’s staring at the ceiling, but Adam can tell he looks a little wild around the eyes. He watches Brandon’s throat work.

“But I love you.” Brandon looks at him sadly. 

“Yeah.” Brandon touches his cheek, gentle, then drops his hand. “While I’m here.” That makes Adam’s stomach twist, and he catches Brandon’s hand so he’s holding both of them tightly. 

“I don’t just love you because I can see you all the time,” Adam says, letting himself be as honest as he can. He turns his face into Brandon’s chest to hide his expression. “I’ll love you no matter where we are, and I’ll wait for you if I have to.”   
  
“Oh,” Brandon says, and he sounds surprised, as if he hadn’t realized that before. He gets one of his hands free and uses it to tilt Adam’s face towards him. “I’ll wait for you, too,” he says, and Adam can see in his face that that _scares_ him. Adam holds his hand, watching his face. 

“I–-”  
  
“Marry me,” Brandon blurts, interrupting whatever it was Adam was going to say, then he snaps his mouth shut. His face is bright red. “Um. Sorry. I didn’t-–”

“That’s a pretty shitty proposal,” Adam says, kind of shocked, but he has a warm feeling in his chest that he doesn’t think will be going away any time soon. Brandon looks upset, humiliated and sad, so Adam uses his grip on his hand to pull him into his arms. Brandon’s still stiff as a board. “You should try again,” Adam adds, pressing his lips to Brandon’s hair comfortingly. Brandon pulls back to look at him. 

“And you’d-–you’d say-–”

“Yes,” Adam says. 

When Brandon finally smiles, Adam knows they’ll be okay no matter where they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> teehee engaged!


	6. adam/brandon: things you said at the kitchen table

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anon... the thématique of it all...

Adam realizes it because of soup.

Kind of ridiculous, maybe, but he’s in Brandon’s kitchen assembling a salad and Brandon’s there making soup, frowning in concentration while he stirs it. He touches Adam’s back when he comes to check on his progress, smiles up at him before taking the salt shaker and going back to the stove.

Adam shivers a little, the impression of Brandon’s warm hand lingering on his skin. Lucky for him, Brandon’s back is to him while he stands over the pot. 

The salad finished, he goes to set it on the table. When he comes back, Brandon’s tasting a spoonful of soup, looking pleased with himself. He catches Adam watching him.

“Do you want to try it?” He took another spoonful from the pot and held it out to Adam expectantly. Adam hesitates. “It won’t poison you, come on,” Brandon says, but he’s smiling. Adam gives in with a _why not_ shrug, going to take the spoon from Brandon’s hand. 

Brandon doesn’t let him.

Instead, he raises the spoon to Adam’s mouth himself.

“Open your mouth,” he says.   
  
 _Make me_ , Adam doesn’t say. He opens his mouth. The soup is–-it’s good, obviously, but Adam’s paying attention more to the way that Brandon’s watching his face, his eyes wide and dark, the tops of his cheeks flushed.

“’S good,” Adam says, voice rough. He clears his throat. “Which you know.”  
  
“Yeah, well,” Brandon steps back, effectively breaking whatever spell they’d been under, “always nice to hear it.” He drops the spoon in the sink before filling two bowls with the steaming soup. He passes one to Adam, and Adam feels their fingers brush together. Brandon keeps hold of the bowl for one beat too long, then jerks away like he’s been shocked.

Adam sits down at the table, waiting for Brandon to join him. It’s dark outside and the lights are dim, casting dark shadows on Brandon’s face. Adam’s heart lurches, and he stares at his bowl to avoid Brandon’s eyes.

Something bumps against his leg, startling him into looking up. Brandon’s pressed his foot into Adam’s calf, and he’s looking at him carefully. 

“You alright?” he asks. “You’re acting weird tonight.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Adam drums his fingers against the table, then eats a spoonful of soup to avoid looking at Brandon. 

“Either you are or you aren’t,” Brandon says, leaning forward. Too perceptive by half. “Which is it?” Adam sighs, shoulders slumping.

“I guess not,” he says. “Just–-realizing some things, you know.” Brandon looks worried.

“What about?” Adam bites his lip, nervous. What is he supposed to _say_? _Oh, not much, just figured out I’m in love with you_ probably wouldn’t go over well. Brandon would probably empty his bowl over Adam’s head.

“Um,” he says. “Stuff about, uh. Myself, I guess.”

“You know you can talk to me if you need to, right?” Brandon reaches out and catches Adam’s wrist in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the bone. Adam twists his hand around to catch Brandon’s, palm to palm and fingers intertwined. Brandon looks at him sharply, but he doesn’t move away. Adam takes that as encouragement.

“What about this.” Adam keeps his voice soft and his grip gentle. He looks at Brandon, who’s staring at him with a surprised expression but is still holding his hand. Adam presses his foot against Brandon’s. “Can we talk about this?”

Brandon raises Adam’s hand to his mouth and brushes his lips across Adam’s knuckles, never breaking eye contact. 

“We can talk,” Brandon says, a slow smile spreading across his face, “for a little while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soup=tenderness that is all i have to say on the matter

**Author's Note:**

> if you thought this one was kind of sad? well.


End file.
